Gods and Monsters
by abernaith
Summary: PostAWE. Everyone is off on their own merry, and notsomerry, adventures. Calypso thinks things aren't exciting enough, so she stirs the pot and brings back everyone's favorite exCommodore. Rated T for typical pyratical, bohemian and supernatural stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**Gods and Monsters**

Author: abernaith  
Fandom: Pirates of the Carribean (post-AWE)  
Pairing: none so far  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to its rightful owners. I am just a fan.

Summary: Post-AWE. Everyone is off on their own merry, and not-so-merry, adventures. Calypso thinks things aren't exciting enough, so she stirs the pot and brings back everyone's favorite ex-Commodore.

Notes: This is the prologue to what I hope will be a story focused on three not-quite-mortal men and a lady Pirate King. This will definitely be following Jack's adventure as he hunts for Agua Vida, the Fountain of Youth, but things are more complicated now with Calypso on the loose.

* * *

_What did it take to walk in the wake of legends?  
What deity, law or element should bend,  
That life appended break a fated curse?  
Thus the mighty fear; such hand that ill amend_  
_would cause the world to run reverse._

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

In the Absence, there was the first breath. And with it, came life and light and consciousness.

The man that was once named James Norrington awoke.

"Where am I?" were his first words, and they echoed oddly in the Void, rising in a crescendo that extended off a space boundless, endless.

His first movement was to lift a hand, gone pale, slightly translucent. He looked at it for a second--an infinite time--and frowned.

"I suppose this is death," he said, and sighed. A waste of breath, though in the air there lingered a sadness that was not of the Absence. And to that, a Voice responded.

"_James_," it called. And the ex-Commodore recognized it. Recognized _her_.

"Tia Dalma," he hissed.

The Voice laughed. "No, no, no, you mistake me for a woman, luv. On the contrary, I am a _goddess_. Calypso, you may call me."

"Calypso, then," James amended. "And what brings you here?"

"Is that the way to talk to your savior? Your _patron_?"

James arched an eyebrow, but then he felt silly for it, having no one to direct the full effect of the irony he felt upon.

"You need not ask now, and I don't want to explain further anyway. There will be time; I will be sure that we shall meet again. For now, all you have to know is that you live, and live because of me."

"Where am I, anyway?"

"At the End of the World," replied Calypso. "Where else?" And here she cackled; the mad witch that spun the wheel of stories, the black mistress of the enchanted swamp.

James had only heard about her, in parts from Sparrow's crew, and then a bit more in hushed whispers from Davy Jones' creatures. Before that cursed Jack Sparrow came to Port Royal and ruined his life, he had never believed any of these fairytales. But then he lived them, he certainly died because of one, and was even now talking to a disembodied goddess--stuff he was sure no sane man would ever dream to encounter.

There was a strange howling noise. If James didn't know better, it sounded like a huge seastorm somewhere beyond the horizon. He sniffed the air delicately; it even smelled like a storm. He stuck his tongue and caught the tang of salt that a gust of wind brought to his face. Yes, it even tasted like a storm. And as the noise grew louder, James knew that it was coming his way.

When the rain came, it almost blew him off his feet. Soon, the main body of the storm arrived, and the torrents were like curtains draping his vision in grey. James had been a seaman since boyhood, and he knew skies as well as waters, but never did he experience such a surreal downpour. It was as if a whole ocean of water was falling on him. After a while, it felt like drowning. And then it occured to James, as his arms waded desperately in a parody of swimming and his body of its own accord buoyed up as the water acquired depth and mass, that he really was underwater, and quickly running out of air. The darkness was absolute by then, no light to guide, no surface for light to penetrate.

When finally his eyes closed, only one thought occupied his mind, '_This would have been more effective if I didn't know that I was already dead._'


	2. Chapter 1: The Game

**Gods and Monsters**

**Chapter 1: The Game  
**

Author: abernaith  
Fandom: Pirates of the Carribean (post-AWE)  
Pairing: (future) JackxJamesxWill  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to its rightful owners. I am just a fan.

The story so far: Calypso has brought Jack Norrington back to life. What could she be up to?

Notes: Post-AWE. This story will be switching focus among four main characters: Jack, James, Will, and Elizabeth. The first few chapters are for setting up the plot, but eventually the narrative will focus on one character per chapter.

* * *

The smell of the sea was ripe ... _with adventure._

Jack smiled at this thought. It was a very good thought. He had left the dinghy at the port. A very good thing. He had commandeered a small, well-supplied, proper sea-voyaging vessel. Another very, very good thing. He held the wheel in one hand, the compass in another, and one singular thought in his head. Definitely, possibly, almost ... but not quite, a good thing.

Not when the prow of his ship almost went nose-to-nose with the Flying Dutchman.

"Well, well. Where on Earth did you come from?"

Less than an hour later, but not after an embarrassingly hilarious incident on the part of one captain and an exaggerated sigh from the other captain, Jack found himself shaking hands with Davy Jones's successor.

Will Turner stared at the begrimed and sooty fingers of the most unbelievable scoundrel he had ever dared call friend. The cupid's bow of his lip was curved in a delicate scowl.

Make that almost shaking hands with Davy Jones's successor then, Jack corrected himself. He spent a fraction of a second convincing himself that before him stood the most unbelievable traitor, scoundrel and eunuch that he had ever dared call friend. Only then did he withdraw his hand.

"Well, my good Captain Turner," said Jack, patting himself absent-mindedly for his effects. "I didn't expect you to be nosing around _my_ side of the ocean." He wanted to make sure that his effects were where he'd find them when he'd need them, later on.

That graceful arc of an eyebrow projected all the incredulity that the captain of the Flying Dutchman felt. Jack thought it too girly an affectation that would never grace a real pirate's noble facade. _Definitely a eunuch_, he mentally chalked it up.

"_Your_ side? Since when did you own _any_ side of this ocean? And, may I refresh your memory here, Captain Sparrow. James had spotted your little ship meandering about these waters and the Dutchman weighed anchor for more than half an hour with obvious intent of NOT plowing through your ship and your sorry excuse for a human self! My God, man, went you blind all that time?"

Jack had trouble following the Turner boy's words. They flew from his lips so fast, and danced on Jack's eardrums with a lightness that irritated him. His mind tried to catch one of those verbal pests and surprised himself by catching the bloodiest mosquito of them all.

"Whose James? You don't mean—"

"Captain Jack Sparrow." The voice, as crisp and obnoxious as ever. The well-bred gentleman who fell so low.

Well, now, thought Jack. Serving under a traitor, scoundrel, and eunuch. This is definitely the lowest a man could ever get!

"My dear Commodore. I'm not so sure that I'm ever glad to see you, but seeing as you're with someone I think I can never be glad to see, you're not such a sight for sore eyes after all."

What his current audience lacked in wit, they made up for in looks; the twin furious glares, doubtless a cover for their confusion (for they had trained themselves to treat the pirate's convoluted words with automatic detestation). Jack liked to think that, in a weird but endearing way, the Turner boy and the ex-Commodore were like his trained puppies. However, following the logical sequence of this thought, it would appear that he now had a responsibility to care for them.

It was a good thing that Will Turner and Jack Norrington were willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, even the most self-incriminating of bastards. That's why they let themselves believe that Jack Sparrow's frown meant that he had the slightest semblance of good graces left. An act of contrition—Jack Sparrow would recall later, and correctly so—that he had never performed.

"Why so serious, my lads? This is a fine time for a reunion as any. Regretfully, as fine times go, this one I'm afraid I have to cut dreadfully short." Without a second thought, Jack reached up to muss the Turner boy's hair. Will squawked indignantly, but was too shocked to do anything else. "Charmed to see you again, boy," Jack said, barking with laughter. He made to do the same to the ex-Commodore when his hand, fortunately, stopped short of touching a single hair on James' head.

"Good that you at least know your limits," James muttered under his breath.

Jack let the comment slide, for now. To make up for his error, he sketched a comical bow. "I bid you know yours as well, Commodore. I'm curious, for instance, that you're very much here when you should very much be _elsewhere._" Jack pointed downward, winking exaggeratedly. "I'd not expect you to be so dense, but here, I'm just a fellow fugitive of that abominable locker out to give a DEAD man a hint."

It was Will who spoke for James on the matter, to Jack's surprise. "You don't have to be vague about it, Jack. My father found him a few days ago, floating around in the middle of the ocean. Not a stitch of clothing, and not a single memory of his time in Davy Jones' Locker."

"Aye, that's mighty interesting," said Jack, tugging on the beads in his beard. "If the captain of the Flying Dutchman has no hold on this man's soul, then who does?"

The three men took a moment to mull the question over when, suddenly, Jack's eyes lit up. He looked at the still-clueless faces of Will and James. "You'll find out for yourselves in due time, I guess," he said, and shrugged.

The Dutchman and The Clapper (Jack swore someone else had the audacity to name his current ship so before he had the chance to use it himself) parted ways not long thereafter. The meeting proved interesting for all parties, if a little more annoying for Will Turner and James Norrington. However, both men were secretly grateful for Jack's clue.

"Do you think Calypso was responsible for your…return?" asked Will. He was about to say "resurrection," but that didn't sound right. He wasn't really a practicing Christian, but he was loathe to blaspheme all the same.

"If _she _was truly behind this," thought James aloud, "then what does she get out of it? What does she want?"

The two men exchanged confused looks, but no answer was forthcoming.

In his own cabin, Jack Sparrow sat on his bed thinking similar thoughts while nursing a bottle of rum. The witch—no, the _goddess_—was up to something. Jack knew that her return would change the seas, and he had been waiting for her move for some time now. Now that it was made clear to him that the game had started, he found himself very much eager to play.

"The winner takes all," Jack muttered and raised his bottle of rum in a clumsy toast.

Outside, an errant wind rocked the ship, carrying with it the faint laughter of a mischievous goddess.


End file.
